A new friendship on the periphery of my
life went sour recently and the unresolved conflict made me sad. I woke up one day
feeling discombobulated. Any shared healing is unlikely, due to circumstances.
I was stuck with feeling bad.
I tried reading some inspiring writers. I
watched part of a Christian TV show that sometimes encourages me. I prayed,
sort of. All efforts failed and my mind kept buzzing.
It made sense to get some errands done so I
headed out. Driving between stores, I remembered the saddest little labyrinth
I’ve ever seen.
Sometimes it helps my state of mind if I
walk a labyrinth and I’ve walked many: a beautiful carpet labyrinth in San
Francisco’s Grace Cathedral, outdoor labyrinths surrounded by exquisite gardens,
Toronto labyrinths in Women’s College Hospital and High Park.
The one I was thinking of is nothing like
those.
Today’s errands would take me near it. An
hour later I drove into a church driveway and on toward the farthest corner of
their property.
Years since I’d last seen it, the labyrinth
was still there, faded lines painted on parking lot asphalt. It hid at the edge
of crumbling pavement, bordered on one side by the neighbours’ privacy fences
and on the other by unkempt park grass. When I walked over to enter the
labyrinth I saw that it was half-covered by dirt and fallen leaves. Even after
kicking away some debris and muck I couldn’t see enough of the paths with their
unpredictable turns to follow the trail with confidence.
Labyrinths are not mazes; you can’t puzzle
out the right way or decide which path to take. The meditative practice is to
follow a path laid out for you so that you are free to let your thoughts wander
and become aware of insights God’s Spirit may bring.
What to do?
I trudged across the huge suburban church parking
lot. The church secretary seemed annoyed that anyone had opened her office
door. I explained my problem and asked if I could possibly borrow a rake or an
outdoor broom. I would be happy to clean the labyrinth but I couldn’t use it
the way it was.
She frowned, and defended the state of the
labyrinth by informing me that there were many other things the church had to
spend money on.
Again I explained, “I’d just like to brush
away some of the leaves and dirt that are covering the path, if that’s
alright.”
“Anyone is welcome to use the labyrinth at any time” she
replied, grudgingly, “but I don’t know where there would be a rake or a broom.”
I persisted, “Is there a caretaker around?”
“I don’t think so and I don’t know where he
keeps the brooms and the door would probably be locked anyway.”
“Oh, okay, thanks.”
As I left I added silently, “For nothing.”
On my way downstairs to the exit I passed a
man on his way up. Taking a chance I said, “Hello. Do you work here?”
He stared at me, puzzled.
I repeated, more slowly, “I’m just
wondering if you work here.”
“Yes. I janitor,” he replied in a strong
accent.
I asked if I could borrow a rake or a
broom, gesturing outside toward the parking lot. “I need to clean up the
labyrinth”
What are the chances he knows that word?
None.
“You want to clean?”
“Yes. I want to walk the labyrinth but it’s
covered in dirt and leaves. Do you have a broom?”
This word he understood. He nodded and turned
to head upstairs. I followed him back past the secretary’s office with its
glass walls, keeping my head down and hoping she wouldn’t tell me to stop
bothering the staff. He led me around the corner to his (open) closet, getting
out a broom and dustpan. I held out my hands but he said, “I clean. You show
me”.
Off we went.
When we got to the far corner of the
parking lot he pointed at the painted circles and asked, “What this is?
“It’s a labyrinth, a path we can walk while
we pray”
“Pray? Like… Gott?”
“Yes,” I nod and smile, “We walk, and we think and God gives us
ideas. Sometimes we ask for help. Like I have a friend in trouble and I’m asking
God for help.”
I finally had the sense to ask his name.
“Damien”
We shook hands.
“Hi Damien. I’m DJ. Thankyou so much for
doing this.”
Waving at the labyrinth markings he said
with a smile, “I think this for children to play”.
After his first attempt to sweep the muddy leaves
he walked all the way back to the church building to get a bigger push broom. There
was no stopping him, so I went to where I thought the labyrinth entrance was
and kicked away enough leaves to begin my prayer walk. Soon I heard the whoosh,
whooshing of Damien’s broom behind me as I moved slowly along the circling path.
I paused. It sounded like Mother God cleaning, cleaning up our messes.
As I turned one of the loops in the path, I
saw that he was leaving.
“Thankyou so much, Damien!” I called.
Gratitude began to replace my hurt and
frustration, although there were more tears before I was done. It was so
healing to stand in the centre circle, complaining to God about the ugly and
hard parts of life, wishing there was nothing but beauty and love. I gave
thanks for those who had made this labyrinth, poor cousin to Cathedral carpets and lovely gardens. I closed my eyes to face
the warm sun and listened to leaves rustling. I sang, “Great is Thy
Faithfulness”.
When I left the labyrinth, feeling much
better, I thought two things.
The church secretary didn’t understand that
by being unhelpful, she was blocking the light I badly needed.
And, between language difficulties and his unfamiliarity with labyrinths Damien won’t understand how his kind gift helped me back to the
sunshine.
